


Envy

by steveelotaku



Category: Lollipop Chainsaw
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveelotaku/pseuds/steveelotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swan is a man with a poisoned heart.</p><p>One shot, drabble-esque thing.  No dialogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Envy

Envy

noun

( _plural_ ) -vies

a feeling of grudging or somewhat admiring discontent aroused by the possessions, achievements, or qualities of another

the desire to have for oneself something possessed by another; covetousness

an object of envy

\--Collins Dictionary

            _Hell is empty and all the devils are here._   William Shakespeare’s work was nothing new to Swan, but even as he finished scrawling the quote on a nearby wall, it resonated with him with the same pain it always had.  Swan took a step back, the black marker ink glistening in the sunlight before drying against the battered brick wall.  There was a strange finality to it, as if some great orchestra had decided to play John Cage’s _4’33’’_ as its last work after the end of the world.  Silence greeted Swan as he walked away, his leather shoes making no noise on the pavement.

            Swan looked towards heaven, and found no comfort in the cloudless sky that looked down on him.  Where was God? Swan didn’t know.  He didn’t particularly care, either.  He had found his own gods.  Revenge was his chief god, and Juliet the Madonna of his religion.  A brutal sacrifice, but also his most treasured relic.  He hated and loved her in equal measure.  And her voice was like searing pinpricks on his skin, a burning passion that ate away his skin like lye.  Some nights when he got tired of pleasuring himself to her picture, he’d throw knives into it.  Sex, violence, what was the difference?  So long as he got to stick some part of him inside her it would make him feel good, make him part of her.  Then he wouldn’t cry.  He wouldn’t hide.  He’d live once his only obstacle was gone.

            Swan felt his bones ache, the ghosts of bruises and broken bones beginning to haunt him again.  He sighed, tears lurking behind the ghastly shades of his eyes.  No tears fell, however.  The young man had grown beyond such things—grown so far into thorns that when he breathed their poisonous blossoms choked his heart with the sweet, deathly aroma of hate.  Where love once grew, only death showed its face.

            There is no poison stronger to the heart than envy.


End file.
